


Afterglow

by octothorpetopus



Series: Lover [5]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Character, Coming Out, Dead Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, First Love, Gay Richie Tozier, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, M/M, POV Richie Tozier, Post-Canon, Resolution, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Needs a Hug, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Sad, Sad Richie Tozier, Secret Crush, Short & Sweet, Soft Richie Tozier, Song: Afterglow (Taylor Swift), Stephen King's IT References, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, bitch i love him, god i'm so glad i finally get to say that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-14 06:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus
Summary: After it's all over, Richie Tozier goes home.





	Afterglow

Richie refuses to cancel his shows. Partially because he does still need to get paid, but mostly because if he changes his life, if he lets the depression take him and pull him into the abyss... that means it's real. That means that Eddie's really gone and he's really not coming back.

He also refuses to cancel his TV appearances, which includes hosting the most popular late-night sketch comedy show in American history, and the one he got his start on as a cast member. Before he went to Derry, he had been excited for it. Before he went to Derry, he had been excited for a lot of things. Now, he couldn't even remember the sensation of excitement. He couldn't remember running ahead of the crowd to get to what he wanted. Now, there was only getting through it, and if he could do that, he'd survive.

The days seem to float by leading up to that Saturday night. He has meetings and rehearsals and publicity stunts and none of it matters. Not one bit. None of the other Losers call, but he didn't think they would. They're giving him space, and besides, they've all got their own things to figure out.

Saturday night comes, and Richie isn't nervous. He finds that since defeating It, nothing else can make him nervous. He stands backstage at the studio, hearing the familiar theme play and the cacophonous cheers of the audience. He's a little excited now. Not enough, but a little. He takes one last look in his dressing room mirror. His expression is tired, but when he plasters on a smile, he almost looks just like he used to. He has gotten a haircut, and he looks older. Less like a kid. He feels less like a kid. But that's not his job. His job is to make other people feel like kids.

"...along with your host, Richie Tozier!" The voiceover finishes just as Richie shakes himself from his stupor and pushes open the door of his dressing room, almost sprinting past producers and studio execs, taking a moment to compose himself before he walks onstage. There is a deafening roar and a flash of blinding light as he walks out, and it takes everything in him not to raise a hand to shield his eyes. He raises it to wave instead, flaunting a brilliant grin beneath his new glasses. He stops in the box on the middle of the stage and waits, breathing shakily, for the noise to stop. Eventually it does, and he smiles again.

"Hello, everyone. I'm so happy to be back here, and this time I'm hosting!" He whoops, letting the lights wash over him, wiping the slate clean. "No, really, it is great to be back. You know, since I left the show, I've gotten a lot of attention, which is great, and almost all of it's good, so..." He pumps his fist, timing it just right. He was not always so good at timing. "But even though I worked here for a long-ass time both in the cast and as a writer, people still tell me I'm just, like... not funny? Like, they'll come up to me after a show and just say, 'Hey, I didn't laugh at any of that. Can I still get a picture, though?' And a lot of my friends tell me that, too. I've got this one friend, and he..." Richie trails off, his eyes traveling up past the crowd and into the lights. They look just like the Deadlights, he notices. How did he not notice that earlier? In his near-excitement, he forgot all about his brief time in the Deadlights, and... and Eddie. He had been just about to mention Eddie. He snaps his eyes back out of the lights, blinking blurry purple circles away. He has to get back to the show. He can't break. He can't.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about my friend. He, um, literally never laughed at one of my jokes. We knew each other since we were eleven, and he didn't laugh at a single one." Richie has a memory of an eleven-year-old Eddie with a popsicle melting in his hand, offering one to Richie. "All my friends got kinda sick of my jokes back then. I wasn't nearly as funny then as I am now." He laughs self-indulgently, and then he is back in the lights, slipping away. He sees Eddie at eleven, at thirteen, at sixteen, at eighteen, at forty. He sees Eddie a hundred times, flashing before his eyes. He can't feel his mouth move, but it does, and he doesn't realize what he's done until he hears himself say, "And I loved him for it." That is all it takes to bring him back. He stumbles back, suddenly feeling the eyes of everyone watching close in around him. He does not know what to do. He does not know what to say. And then, all at once, he does. And he says it.

"There's something I've needed to say for a very, very long time." Nobody speaks. Nobody moves. Richie straightens, closes his eyes, and takes a long, slow breath. When he speaks again, his voice is steady and even, and not quite his own. "And this wasn't planned, but I think this is maybe the best place to do it." His eyes open, and they are glowing gunmetal silver under the lights. "I'm gay." He is unsmiling, a word almost never used to describe him before Derry. The audience is utterly silent. They could be replaced by mannequins for all Richie knows. And then, there comes a burst of nervous laughter from somewhere to his left, someone who thinks maybe this is just a very odd set-up to a joke. But it wasn't. "I'm gay, and my best friend in the whole world, the one who never laughed at my jokes... he died. Last week. I was in love with him, and I never told him. That I loved him, or that I was even gay. And... when I say love, I don't mean I had a crush on him when we were kids and something got rekindled when we were adults. I mean I loved him. Really, truly loved him, in the way most people never even get, when we grew up together, now, and almost thirty years in between." Whispers begin to rise now, floating to Richie's ears, but he shuts them out. He is going now, snowballing, getting bigger and bigger and bigger. "I think that's why I'm telling you all now. Because he never got to hear it, and now, I owe it to him to tell someone. I loved him despite the fact that he never laughed at my jokes. I loved him _because _he never laughed at my jokes. I will always regret never saying anything." He looks down at the people in front of him now. Some are grumbling. Some are stunned. One or two, he notes, are even crying. He reaches up to adjust his glasses and realizes that he is too.

"I'm sorry, everyone," he says. "You didn't come here tonight to see a forty-year-old man cry over his first love. And you won't have to for much longer. I want to leave you with one piece of advice, something a very wise friend said to me. Be who you want to be. Be proud." He smiles, though he feels more like crying than ever, and walks off the stage the way he came to a totally stunned silence. He passes the same producers, the same studio execs, and ignores their cries of protest. He has said his piece. And perhaps his career as a comedian is over in this one blip. Would that really be the end of the world?

He exits out the back doors of the studio and ducks his head, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He passes a long line of people waiting to meet him, praying that they don't see him, and by some miracle, they don't. He thinks about hailing a cab, and then doesn't. It's a cool night, and he wants to walk.

This is Eddie's city, he realizes. No wonder he's been having visions and dreams of him ever since he arrived. How many times did Eddie walk these same sidewalks, bobbing and weaving to avoid accidental contact? How many times did he roll his eyes at the tourists, or hesitate before ordering bodega coffee, or step over a passed-out drunk on his way into his apartment?

He hardly makes it inside the doors of his hotel when he gets the first call. It is the first of many calls he will receive tonight, and the only one he will pick up. It's Bev. He settles into a leather armchair by the lobby fireplace and answers the phone.

"Hi, Bev-"

"Richie?" He can see her face just from her tone of voice and has to stifle a laugh at her wide eyes and open mouth. "Richie, I just saw the show-"

"Bev, slow down-"

"Why didn't you tell me? You could have told me-"

"Bev, please, go easy on him." This is Ben, muffled on the other line. Richie hears Beverly exhale, and when she speaks again, it's slower. Less frantic.

"Richie, that was... very brave of you."

"Thanks. It wasn't too disastrous?"

"No, we thought it was very... very you. And Richie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you." He blushes and feels another tear slide down his face.

"Thank you, Beverly. Do you think-"

"I think Eddie would be too. And, Rich, can I tell you something?"

"Shoot."

"...I don't know what it's worth, but I think Eddie loved you too." Richie chokes on his own breath and has to take a moment, coughing and pounding his chest. He has a vision of using a gray plastic HydrOx inhaler.

"It's worth everything, Bev. Look, I gotta go, but-"

"No worries, Richie. Call me if you need to talk."

"Bye, Rich."

"Bye, Haystack." The line clicks off. Richie leans back in his seat and looks around the lobby. It will not be long before the news of his dramatic exit becomes widespread. He doesn't dread the flood, though. He awaits it with open arms. "If Eds could see me now," he murmurs, warm relief settling in the pit of his stomach. And then, even quieter, with a genuine, melancholy smile: "Beep-beep, Richie."


End file.
